Sonnets  of  the  Head  and  Heart 


"Joseph    Warren    Beach 


PC-NRLF 


SB    155 


: 


Sonnets  of  the 
Head  and 


Joseph  Warren  Beach 


Boston:  Richard  G.  Badger 

The  Gorham  Press 


1903 


Copyright,  1903,  by  Joseph  Warren  Beach 
All  Rights  Reserved 


Printed  at 

The  Gorham  Press 

Boston 


To. 


:I 


Contents 

PAGE 

SWALLOW  FLIGHTS 

Praise  of  the  Body          ...  9 

The  Pursuit  of  Pleasure              -             -  10 

Bacchantes          -             -             -             -  11 

Nightmare                        -             -             -  12 

Ephemerae                                     -             -  13 

The  Cloud          ....  14 

Revelation                                      -             -  15 

Animism             -                           -             -  16 

A  Nocturne                                                 -  17 

Proteus                                          -             .  18 

Protestants                                                   -  19 

The  Swimmer                                             -  20 

The  Pursuit  of  the  Ideal              -             -  21 

THE  WORLD  OF  A  PESSIMIST  27 

IN  THE  FOREST  OF  ARDEN  43 

DISILLUSION              ....  65 


Swallow  flights 


praise  of  tbc  Bob\> 

As  one  for  whom  the  dazzling  noonday  beams 
Are  tempered  in  the  cloister's  dim  retreat, 
Surveys  in  gules  and  azure  at  his  feet 

The  sun's  white  heraldry,  that  richly  streams 

Through  storied  glass :  so  in  my  soul  that  seems 
A  sense-embowered  cell,  the  rays  that  beat 
Fervent  without,  are  robbed  of  all  their  heat, 

And  I  am  bathed  in  gules  and  azure  dreams. 

Ah,  much-abused  body  that  of  old 

Men  deemed  a  glass  opaque  that  baffled  still 
The  efforts  of  the  spirit  after  light, 

I  love  thee  for  thy  rich  and  manifold 

Division  of  that  light  —  so  dost  thou  fill     , 

The  soul  with  entertainment  infinite. 


pursuit  of  pleasure 

Nay,  thou  whose  body's  every  tingling  sense 
Is  like  a  window  to  let  in  delight, 
Whom  all  the  world  doth  winsomely  invite 

To  wanton  with  felicities  intense,  — 

Well  mayst  thou  don  thine  armour  of  defense 

To  frown  upon  the  buxom  world,  and  fight ; 
Well  mayest  thou,  in  grinning  hell's  despite, 

With  all  those  sweet  amenities  dispense. 

But  we  that  follow  pleasure  as  she  flies, 
Begging  a  paltry  alms  for  our  content, 

And  never  have  beheld  her  gracious  eyes, 

I  lave  yet  no  pleasant  trespass  to  repent,^ 

•Arid  We  shall  follow  till  our  last  hope  dies 
Atul'our  last  volt  of  energy  is  spent. 


10 


Baccbante0 

Come,  let  us  kindle  ecstasy  with  wine 

Of  license,  and  divesting  us  of  shame, 
Crown  us  with  ivy  in  the  wine  god's  name, 

And  purple  clusters  of  his  wanton  vine. 

And  then  let  eyes  with  eager  fury  shine, 

And  fury  flushed  and  gleaming  limbs  inflame, 
And  all,  forgetful  of  immortal  fame, 

Dance,  in  a  reeling,  torch-illumined  line. 

We  dance,  and  the  ear-splitting  cymbals  crash, 

We  dance,  and  rend  the  heavens  with  our  cries 
Wild  as  the  cries  of  desert  beasts  by  night. 
So  for  a  while  the  frantic  bodies  flash, 

Till  one  by  one,  each  panting  carcase  lies 
Obscure  and  quiet  in  the  dubious  light. 


11 


IFUgbtmare 

At  dawn,  the  dim  obscurity  of  sleep 

Was  troubled  with  returning  tides  of  thought, 
Disordered  and  tumultous,  and  fraught 

With  monsters  of  the  intellectual  deep. 

I  dreamed  that  Space,  bewildered,  could  not  keep 
Her  wonted  order  more,  but  was  distraught, 
And  trusty  Time,  with  sad  confusion  wrought, 

Whole  centuries  of  years  would  overleap. 

And  mid  the  wreck  of  all  my  wonted  world, 
Wherein  she  found  no  hope  of  lasting  rest, 

My  spirit  mourned  for  every  baffled  sense, 
With  vain  illusions  evermore  oppressed, 

Exposed  to  ignominious  accidents 
And  from  confusion  to  confusion  whirled. 


12 


Epbemerae 

The  room  was  chill  and  dark,  until  a  door 
Swung  open  of  a  sudden,  and  behold  ! 
A  glorious  shaft  of  light  dispersed  the  cold. 

Now  through  the  breach  the  glittering  legions  pour, 

And  lo  !  where  all  was  emptiness  before, 

The  dancing  motes  in  myriads  untold  — 
Till  of  a  sudden,  with  the  shaft  of  gold, 

They  vanish,  and  are  gone  for  evermore. 

Dust-motes  are  we  that  dance  into  the  day 

Of  gladness  in  the  sun's  propitious  smile, 
Creatures  of  his,  with  whom  he  does  beguile 

The  tedious  hours  of  idle  time's  delay. 

A  moment  in  the  sunlight  we  shall  play, 
And  we  shall  vanish  in  a  little  while. 


13 


Clout) 

Thou  fleeting  speck  of  white  that  farest  still 

Wind-driven  through  the  sky,  nor  wilt  abide, 
Leading  along  the  sunny  mountain-side 

Thy  mote  of  shadow  like  a  ghost  of  ill, 

Thy  phantom  flight  impalpable  doth  fill 

My  heart  with  longing  evermore  denied. 
The  old  enigmas  evermore  divide 

My  powers  of  thought,  and  paralyze  the  will. 

Thou  boldest  in  thy  bosom,  with  the  rain  — 

But  with  the  rain  thou  wilt  not  give  it  birth  — 
The  secret  of  all  being :  for  with  mirth 

Either  thou  farest  blithe  for  some  demesne 
Where  dream-felicities  forever  last, 
Or,  helpless,  thou  art  driven  with  the  blast. 


14 


IRevelation 

I  dreamed  my  sore-distracted  eyes  in  vain 

Sought  whither  in  the  darkness  they  should  turn 
Some  secret  of  the  labyrinth  to  learn 

That  might  relieve  the  trouble  of  my  brain. 

And  suddenly  methought  the  wide  domain 
Of  dubious  chaos  inwardly  did  burn, 
As  if  some  prisoned  god  did  strongly  yearn 

To  make  the  meaning  of  the  riddle  plain. 

Long  spears  of  light  shot  out  on  every  hand, 
And  all  the  substance  of  the  world  did  fall 
In  simple,  ranged  lines  symmetrical, 

Out  of  the  chaos  of  unmeaning  war 
Breeding  a  form  my  soul  could  understand, 

And  on  the  dark  disorder  dawned  a  star. 


Bnimtsm 

The  wind  is  up,  and  every  silent  thing 

Has  found  a  soul  of  motion  and  delight. 
The  crisp  leaves  soar  as  if  some  merry  sprite 

Were  lifting  them  aloft  on  wanton  wing. 

And  to  my  fanciful  imagining 

They  sing  mysterious  carols  in  their  flight.  — 
Yet  is  it  e'er  beyond  mine  utmost  might 

To  catch  a  single  note  of  all  they  sing. 

Because  thy  song  is  inarticulate, 

Full-sounding  Nature,  to  my  human  ear, 

Untrained  to  catch  the  subtler  range  of  sound, 
I  will  not  unbelieving  hesitate, 

But  deem  the  song  thou  singest  without  peer 
For  sense  and  sage  significance  profound. 


16 


H  IRocturne 

Faint  murmurs  die  upon  the  dreamy  hush, 

And  strange  lights  vaguely  glimmer,  for  the  moon 
Veils  in  a  pensive  mist,  this  midmost  June, 

Her  brightness  as  a  virgin  veils  her  blush. 

Across  the  leaves  mysteriously  brush 

The  wind's  light  skirts,  and  still  in  languid  swoon 
The  willows  and  the  ghostly  poplars  croon, 

While  faint  and  far  the  river  waters  rush. 

The  night  is  like  a  silver  goblet  full  — 

Full  to  the  brim,  with  fragrant  liquor  flush  — 
Ready,  should  some  enchanter's  fingers  crush 

The  final  drop  —  one  charmed  syllable  — 
Sufficient  to  allay  immortal  woe, 
In  floods  of  mystic  wine  to  overflow. 


17 


Proteus 

Knowest  thou  yet  my  voice  ?     Or  hast  thou  heard 
In  vain  the  murmurs  of  thy  paradise? 
When  to  the  horn's  melodious  enterprise 
The  low  voice  of  the  violin  demurred, 

Was  it  not  still  the  glad  cry  of  the  bird  ? 

And  when  you  felt  your  love's  bewitching  eyes 
Upon  you,  did  you  entertain  surprise 

That  in  your  own  heart  the  same  longing  stirred  ? 

I  am  a  god  protean,  for  my  name 

Is  named  diversely.     I  am  called  the  Word 

Because  I  made  the  world.     As  Love  I  fill 
The  veins  of  all  the  universe  with  flame. 

And  because  my  desire,  though  long  deferred, 
Is  ever  won  at  last,  men  call  me  Will. 


18 


Protestants 

Steady  as  sands  within  the  hour-glass  fall, 

Somewhither  sets  all  Nature  like  a  tide. 

Into  the  west  the  hounding  breezes  ride 
By  squadrons,  and  each  quiet  interval 
Is  filled  with  clamor  of  the  waterfall. 

Only  upon  this  gusty  river-side 

You  will  not  budge,  old  pine,  but  in  your  pride 
Heed  not  your  mistress'  low,  imperious  call. 

Only  yourself,  and  I,  that  set  my  will 
Against  the  will  of  Nature  manifest, 

Opposing  to  her  stern  commandment  still 
The  yearning  of  my  human  interest. 

So  shall  we  some  few  bitter  drops  distil 

And  triumph,  but  we  shall  not  win  to  rest. 


19 


Swimmer 

I  cannot  see  beyond  the  mounting  wave. 

There  is  no  mercy  in  the  leaden  sky. 

I  strangle  with  salt  water,  and  my  cry 
Beats  on  the  billow's  merciless  concave 
Unheeded.     Fathom-deep  above  my  grave 

The  bitter,  overwhelming  waters  lie. 

Ah  Christ !  if  still  thine  offered  help  be  nigh, 
Enfold  me  with  thine  arms  of  love,  and  save  ! 

Thine  arms  have  closed  about  me,  and  I  sink 
Abandoned  and  voluptuous  away, 
Like  one  that  cheats  the  overburdened  day 
With  dreams  engendered  of  Lethean  drink  — 
Amid  the  green,  malicious  sea's  alarms 
Pillowed,  and  sure  in  my  strong  swimmer's  arms. 


pursuit  of  tbe  fl&eal 


So  long  have  I  been  faithful  —  but  thy  face 
Ever  eludes  me,  gleaming  on  some  height 
Uncertain,  like  a  glint  of  stars  at  night 

Illusive  in  the  shimmering  azure  space. 

Intangible,  unguessed  is  all  thy  grace, 

A  spirit-grace,  that  still  evades  the  sight 
Of  sensuous  eye,  and  will  not  bear  the  light 

Of  mortal  gaze,  nor  yield  to  man's  embrace. 

Oh,  whither  dost  thou  lure  me  on  a  way 

So  cheerless  and  austere?     Were  but  some  goal 

At  last  assured  where   thou  shouldst  crown  my 

ills 
With  sweet  reward  of  amourous  delay, 

And  yield  thee  to  the  yearning  of  my  soul 

In  some  fair  glade  among  the  purple  hills  ! 


21 


II 

But  nay,  thy  beauty  is  not  measured  so 
As  is  the  rose's  for  her  velvet  red, 
Or  lily's  for  the  proud  poise  of  her  head. 

Upon  thy  cheek  there  is  no  mortal  glow, 

Nor  maiden  charm  that  mortal  sense  may  know 
Upon  thine  unsubstantial  form  is  shed  — 
No  breast's  half-fancied  fulness,  men  are  led 

To  follow  blindly  as  the  waters  flow. 

My  spirit  flies  to  thee  and  straight  is  filled, 

But  my  fierce  blood  with  unfulfilled  desire 

Burns  ever  unassuaged  !     Thou  canst  not  think, 
In  thy  sweet  bosom  where  all  strife  is  stilled, 

How  my  pale  lips,  parched  with  the  inward  fire, 
Cry  out  from  dawn  to  dark  for  saving  drink. 


22 


Ill 

So  long  have  I  been  faithful,  mistress  mine, 

And  still  I  follow  thee,  with  straining  eyes, 
Lest  thy  so  tenuous  form  should  fade,  in  skies 

Of  melting  light  lost  like  a  pearl  in  wine, 

Or  else  engulphed  in  gloom,  and  then  no  sign 
Were  left  me.  For  thy  light  alone  belies 
The  bitter  sentence  of  the  wind  that  sighs 

Disconsolate  down  the  drear  slope  to  the  brine. 

And  so  I  toil  along  the  ragged  hills, 

Footsore  and  weak  under  the  empty  sky, 

And  never  wait  to  count  the  weary  cost. 
I  known  thy  sovran  beauty,  how  it  fills 

The  hungry  soul.     I  know  that  I  should  die  — 
The  better  part  of  me  —  if  thou  wert  lost. 


23 


UGlortt)  of  a  pessimist 


I  dreamed  that  after  many  days  I  came 

Upon  the  object  of  my  last  desire, 
Through  very  fury  of  malicious  flame 

Winning  at  last  unto  my  haven  entire. 
And  there,  resplendent  in  my  lady's  bower, 

I  knelt  in  mail,  and  felt  my  lady's  face 
Smile  over  me,  and  felt  her  hand's  sweet  dower 

Laid  on  my  bent  head  with  an  angel's  grace. 
And  why,  alas !   when  I  was  free  to  rise 

And  clasp  my  lady  to  my  swelling  breast, 
Came  there  a  mist  of  loathing  on  mine  eyes, 

And  o'er  my  limbs  an  instant  need  of  rest? 
Down  at  her  feet  my  fainting  spirit  slips  — 
I  cannot  lift  the  full  cup  to  my  lips ! 


27 


II 

To  me  that  look  upon  your  pageantry, 

Refulgent  lady  Life,  with  shrinking  sense, 
It  wears  no  vague,  seductive  mystery, 

Now  I  have  pierced  your  armour  of  pretence. 
That  ivory-gleaming,  siren  woman's  flesh 

The  rich  embroidered  satins  well  array  — 
I  have  no  strength  of  manhood  to  enmesh 

With  lust  of  such  illusory  display. 
For  when  I  raised  mine  eyes  upon  your  face 

Of  chiseled  beauty,  and  upon  your  eyes, 
My  arms  refused  that  long  desired  embrace, 

The  fruit  of  toil  and  tireless  enterprise. 
Mine  eyes,  caught  fast  in  your  eyes'  fatal  snare, 
Turned  shuddering  from  the  secret  lurking  there. 


28 


Ill 

For  thee  the  whole  creation  has  gone  mad 

With  ecstasy  of  action,  and  the  sleep 
That  made  the  world's  blind  heart  serenely  glad 

No  longer  bathes  it  in  oblivion  deep ; 
But  wild  dreams  interrupt  that  sweet  repose, 

Teasing  and  torturing  the  troubled  brain. 
Day  after  day  the  raging  fever  grows, 

And  further  spreads  its  nets  of  fervent  pain. 
Alas,  that  ever  seeds  of  discontent 

Should  have  brought  forth  this  weed  of  enterprise, 
That  rankly  overtops  the  wall !     So  meant 

That  witch  that  did  the  fatal  charm  devise,  — 
Scheming  a  crop  of  bitterness  to  reap 
From  the  unviolated  gardens  of  old  sleep. 


IV 

First  the  bare  atoms,  in  the  silent  sea 

Where  they  were  sleeping  dreamless,  felt  a  breeze 
Of  trouble  stirring.     Then  reluctantly 

Did  they  abandon  their  estate  of  ease, 
Infected  with  the  fever  of  desire, 

To  whirl  through  endless  orbits  of  distress, 
And  kindle  one  another  into  fire 

With  furious  and  feverish  caress. 
Thence  were  the  fiery  constellations  born,  — 

Whole  broods  of  worlds  brought  forth  at  one  embrace, 
Planets,  and  comets  wandering  forlorn, 

And  all  the  suns  that  fill  heaven's  echoing  space, 
Like  anvils  smitten  with  old  Vulcan's  might, 
With  vain  reverberations  of  keen  light. 


30 


Then  when  the  earth,  ejected  from  the  sun 

With  violent  explosion,  had  once  learned 
A  regular  recurrent  course  to  run, 

She  dozed  a  moment  as  she  turned  and  turned, 
But  swift  the  fever  of  life  flared  up  again. 

The  ooze  of  ocean  felt  a  trouble  grow 
Within  its  bowels,  where  the  vital  pain 

Through  protoplasmic  cells  began  to  flow. 
Then  were  the  green,  pellucid  depths  thick  hung 

With  marvellous  vegetation,  and  the  earth 
Carpeted  deep  with  mingling  greens  that  flung 

A  veil  of  plenty  o'er  the  primal  dearth. 
So  swift  the  poison  sped,  and  spread  the  curse 
Of  amorous  life  through  all  the  universe. 


VI 

Still  in  the  dim  soul  of  the  silent  green 

Lurked  a  suggestion  of  yet  fuller  life,  — 
A  groping  instinct  for  a  sense  more  keen 

And  varied  armour  for  extended  strife.  — 
For  some  must  perish  where  so  many  strove 

With  frantic  madness  for  their  own  distress. 
And  so  grew  sentience,  and  the  sentient  throve, 

And  ripened  slowly  into  consciousness. 
And  many  organs  painfully  were  wrought, 

Fulfilling  many  functions  in  the  beast. 
So  through  long  ages  mercilessly  fought 

The  votaries  of  life,  and  still  increased 
The  flame  of  insuppressible  desire, 
As  life  went  on  from  higher  form  to  higher. 


32 


VII 

But  never  grew  content,  nor  would  the  race 

Sink  back,  with  its  achievements  satisfied, 
Into  oblivion's  long  desired  embrace. 

Ever  a  voice  within  the  creature  cried 
For  labours  herculean  to  engage 

The  growing  spirit  —  every  added  sense 
Brought  in  its  train  new  weary  wars  to  wage. 

And  last  the  brain  of  man,  with  his  immense 
Grasp  on  the  past  and  future  and  the  far, 

Subduing  space  and  nimble  time,  gave  birth 
To  that  intestine,  universal  war 

That  rages  unassuaged  through  all  the  earth, 
Engaging  all  the  strength  of  humankind, — 
A  war  of  spirit  forces  in  the  mind. 


33 


VIII 

Ah,  what  a  piece  of  work,  the  poet  sings, 

Is  this  fine  product  of  the  ages,  —  man  ! 
And  down  the  corridors  of  time  there  rings 

An  empty  echo  since  the  race  began  — 
Ah,  what  a  piece  of  work !  —  The  passing  breeze 

Makes  in  the  firs  its  immemorial  moan. 
Methinks  I  hear  the  toiling  centuries, 

Bent  o'er  their  endless  task  together  groan, 
Fashioning  that  renowned  infinitude 

Of  human  faculties,  —  devoted  slaves, 
Their  foreheads  all  with  bloody  sweat  imbrued  : 

And  as  I  watch  them  ebbing  like  vain  waves 
That  vainly  flowed,  I  cannot  find  a  voice 
With  those  triumphant  echoes  to  rejoice. 


34 


IX 

"  The  life  so  short,  the  craft  so  long  to  learn  "  — 

Whether  of  love  or  of  whatever  art 
Poet  or  sage  the  hopelessness  discern, 

That  strikes  despair  in  to  the  yearning  heart, 
Would  all  the  cycles  of  the  years  suffice 

To  win  full  satisfaction?     Lo,  they  spread 
Eternally  unrolling,  to  entice 

Yet  farther  those  fond  pilgrims  they  have  led 
After  the  fleet  horizon  for  so  long. 

The  fleet  horizon  will  not  be  outrun 
By  any  panting  suitor.     She  is  strong 

With  victories  innumerable  won, 
And  counts  it  most  unmaidenly  disgrace 
To  yield  her  ever  unto  man's  embrace. 


35 


X 

In  form  and  moving  fashioned  so  express 

That  very  breathing  is  felicity, 
And  fate  seems  ever  stooping  to  caress,  — 

So  in  the  laureled  sage  of  Germany, 
Prophet  and  lover  perfectly  combined, 

More  than  in  any  other  of  our  day 
Life  springs  up  like  a  fountain  unconfined, 

Whereon  the  frolic  sunlight  loves  to  play. 
Fittest  indeed  that  labours  with  delight, 

Rejoicing  in  the  triumphs  of  the  past, 
And  still  exulting  in  sufficient  might 

To  subjugate  the  future,  with  its  vast 
Display  of  gleaming  bastions  to  be  stormed, 
With  soul-delighting  functions  well  performed, 


36 


XI 

In  form  and  moving  fashioned  so  express, 

Great  athlete,  sinewed  for  Olympian  games, 
That  ran  to  greet  life's  varied  business 

Exulting,  I  must  think  of  other  names,  — 
Byron  and  Schopenhauer  —  men  of  might 

That,  for  some  petty  maggot  in  the  brain, 
Found  only  anguish  where  you  found  delight, 

And  for  blithe  exercise,  a  bed  of  pain. 
Yet  were  they  of  immortal  lineage, 

The  children  of  Olympus  manifest, 
And  we  that  claim  a  dubious  heritage 

Of  happy  godhead,  cannot  hope,  at  best, 
For  aught  but  shameful  slavery  and  toil, 
The  hapless  villeins  of  a  barren  soil. 


37 


XII 

Ah,  Lady  without  Mercy,  ere  I  faint, 

A  respite  grant  —  alas,  my  foolish  prayer  ! 
To  dream  that  she  might  harken  to  my  plaint, 

So  long  inexorably  cold  and  fair ! 
For  ever  as  the  momentary  dream 

Displays  her  in  resplendent  beauty  wreathed, 
A  maddening  mirage,  whose  features  gleam 

Bright  as  a  flashing  scimitar  unsheathed, 
Alluring  as  the  fragrance  of  old  wine, 

And  palpable  as  self ;  and  as  I  move, 
Ecstatic  and  assured  to  make  her  mine, 

And  reap  full  satisfaction  of  my  love  — 
Sudden  a  baffling  veil  doth  round  her  fall, 
And  I  am  left  alone  —  without  the  wall ! 


38 


XIII 

Alone,  and  quite  confounded  in  the  night, 

Chilled  with  the  breath  of  some  bleak,  homeless  wind, 
I  lie  unmanned,  nor  ask  for  any  might, 

Unto  my  frozen  harbourage  resigned. 
My  utmost  longing,  in  this  desperate  case, 

Is  but  to  lie  untroubled  with  desire, 
My  weary  head  low-pillowed  in  that  place, 

Where  frost  and  sleep  with  Lethe  might  conspire. 
But  ere  the  waves  of  sweet  oblivion 

Can  drown  me  deep  in  peace,  that  siren  voice, 
Calling  me  from  my  business  half  done, 

Inexorably  overrules  my  choice, 
And  spurs  my  jaded  flanks  with  specious  lies 
Up  endless  hills  of  fruitless  enterprise. 


XIV 

Not  from  thine  unrelenting  loftiness, 

That  never  will  vouchsafe  me  any  grace, 
Do  I  derive  my  most  extreme  distress : 

For  I  have  long  foregone  that  sweet  embrace 
Of  thine  elusive  body,  and  would  fain 

Expel  thine  image  from  my  hopeless  heart. 
But  of  thy  cruelty  do  I  complain, 

That  never  wholly  wilt  from  me  depart, 
And  leave  me  to  my  much-required  rest ; 

But  when  of  hopeless  venturing  I  tire, 
And  fall  exhausted  upon  Lethe's  breast, 

Thou  dost  new  trouble  in  my  soul  inspire, 
And  lure  me  —  fool  !  —  to  follow  once  again 
O'er  hill  and  hollow  my  old  path  of  pain. 


40 


XV 

As  some  brave  martyr  that,  upon  the  rack, 

In  midmost  torture  will  not  once  complain, 
Until  the  swoon  comes,  mercifully  black, 

To  wrap  away  all  feeling ;   yet  again 
When  he  awakes  to  find  a  fiendish  hate 

Has  spared  his  life  for  torture  more  intense, 
He  will  cry  out  at  last,  and  execrate 

The  life  that  brings  him  back  his  suffering  sense 
So  is  it  with  our  giant  universe, 

Devoted  to  immortal  agony. 
Methinks,  with  each  renewal  of  the  curse 

Of  tingling  life  through  all  eternity, 
The  whole  creation  uttereth  a  cry 
To  be  delivered  of  its  pain  and  die. 


41 


XVI 

O  ye,  all  ye  that  ride  into  the  fight, 

To  battle  for  that  sovran  Lady  Life, 
Radiant  in  mail,  and  confident  in  might 

For  triumph  in  the  all-engaging  strife, 
When  you  shall  lay  down  at  your  Lady's  feet 

The  precious  trophies  that  your  might  has  won, 
Honour,  and  riches,  and  what  joys  most  sweet 

Your  hearts  desire  beneath  the  smiling  sun  : 
Pause  not  for  me  a  moment  in  your  ride, 

Your  headlong  ride  into  the  hot  melee, 
Nor  bend  an  ear  to  one  that  limps  beside 

The  universal  road  —  lest  I  should  say, 
Myself  most  impotent,  some  killing  word 
That  you  were  better  dead  than  to  have  heard  ! 


42 


flu  £be  fforest  of  Hr&en 


This  busy  water,  so  unconscious  quite 

Of  me  who  spy  it  out,  among  the  ferns 
Low  hidden,  no  least  lesson  deeper  learns 

Of  shrilling  gust  that  churns  it  into  white 

Or  sun  that  glorifies  it  into  gold 

Inlaid  with  glowing  purple.     For  all  day 
These  shallow  waves  among  the  reeds  display 

A  changing  Moorish  pattern,  and  are  bold 

To  shift  without  a  warning  arabesques 
So  delicate  to  Japanese  grotesques 

Of  oily  watersnakes,  a  shadowy  brown 
Upon  the  palest  blue  :  as,  in  some  dream, 
A  dim  face  merges  into  one  agleam, 

And  then  the  whole  in  shadow  dwindles  down, 


45 


II 

So  easily  impressed  with  beauties  !     Yes, 

And  swift  to  leave  one  beauty  ere  its  husk 
Be  scarcely  penetrated.     Now  at  dusk 

Seems  yon  smooth  stretch  more  stable  ?      Can  you  guess 

This  imaged  cedar,  perfect  in  detail 

Even  to  the  crested  blue-bird  on  the  spray, 

Before  the  coming  of  the  night  will  fail, 

And  leave  a  single  bright  star  where  it  lay? 

So  unremembering  the  restless  deep, 

So  unenduring  all  its  lovely  dreams  ! 
This  dry,  dead  beetle  scarcely  more  asleep  — 

This  most  minute  green  insect,  which,  it  seems, 
Can  have  no  name,  that  vainly  seems  to  strive, 
How  more  than  all  the  billowy  lake  alive ! 


46 


Ill 

All  yesterday  the  water  sped  serenely, 

A  million  sparkles  o'er  a  floor  of  blue, 

Toward  yonder  mountain's  foot,  as  though  in  view 

There  were  some  goal  to  northward ;   now  in  queenly 

Inconstancy,  she  takes  up  a  new  burden, 

White-crested  wave  treading  upon  the  heels 
Of  panting  white-capped  wave,  until  one  feels 

The  southward  goal  is  worthy  better  guerdon. 

All  seeming,  all  unmeaning,  all  in  vain  — 
Not  so  my  soul,  O  God,  not  so  my  soul ! 
I'll  not  allow  it  such  a  passive  scroll 

For  fate  to  print  his  fickle  will  on  :  stain, 
And  then  wash  white  again ;  or  glorify 

Only  to  tone  it  back  to  neutral  dye  ! 


47 


IV 

A  year  ago  I  could  have  well  believed 

My  soul  such  passive  matter,  pliant  still 
To  any  shaping  hand,  the  idle  will 

Of  god  or  lilied  goddess,  who  relieved 

This  way  the  bare  monotony  of  bliss  — 
Matter  inconstant  as  the  aimless  sands 
Of  shifting  rivers,  constant  but  in  this, 

Tomorrow  cannot  trace  today's  warm  hands. 

For  this  hour's  song  was  an  inscription  graved 
Where  last  hour's  appetite  had  faded  out. 
Each  doubt  gave  way  to  the  ensuing  doubt 

Each  temporary  chief  his  title  waived 
At  last.     I  reasoned  from  analogy  : 
Waters  remember  not,  nor  soul  of  me. 


48 


But  God  has  since  been  very  good  to  me, 

That  I  such  doctrine  can  no  longer  hold. 

I  have  been  shown  a  sacred  mystery, 

And  as  with  strong  wine  it  has  made  me  bold,  — 

Bold  to  defend,  whate'er  may  fade  away, 

The  permanence  of  love.     For  has  not  God, 
Beloved,  struck  the  spark  in  me,  his  clod, 

Flashed  you  for  light  upon  the  higher  way  ? 

For  I  have  seen  a  beauty  it  were  vain 

Waste  feeble  words  in  limning ;  and  though  firm 
In  trust  God  still  will  succor  with  his  rain, 

Never  shall  faith  in  any  further  term 
Of  bliss  divert  me  from  my  one  fair  dole,  — 
The  beauty  of  a  naked  human  soul. 


VI 

Ah,  do  you  wince,  dear  heart,  and  does  it"  pain 
That  I  this  tawdry  tribute  bring  of  verse 

To  hang  about  your  shrine,  taking  in  vain 

That  heart-embowered  name  of  you,  and  worse, 

Setting  its  sterling  seal  upon  my  plate  ? 

I  think  that  you  are  jealous  of  my  rime, 
Fearing  this  comely  handmaid  may,  in  time, 

Supplant  the  mistress  Love  she  served  of  late. 

You  must  be  wrong,  my  dear,  to  feel  this  dread 

That  so  discredits  Love,  and  Song,  and  me. 

But  say  the  word,  and  I  will  let  it  be, 
This  riming,  though  it  were  my  daily  bread. 

For   though   the   bard   be   prone    to    praise,    4  twere 
wrong, 

When  Love  commands  desist,  to  raise  the  song. 


50 


VII 

My  heart  exulted  to  believe  you  cared, 

Yet  pained  me  too,  love,  when  you  once  betrayed 
This  strange  mistrust  of  Love's  meek  serving-maid, 

And  thus  touched  me,  nor  even  Love's  self  spared. 

For  I  had  loved  Song  as  the  interpreter 

Of  Love's  dumb  language  merely,  nor  had  dreampt 
Any  could  woo  Song  from  great  Love  exempt, 

The  empty  words,  the  soft,  narcotic  purr. 

And  still  I  hold  Song  cannot  stand  alone  : 

Song  is  the  blushing  flesh-wreath,  Love  the  bone. 
Let  him  who  would  forget  his  Love  beware : 
Clasp  he  mere  Song,  he  clasps  but  empty  air. 

Love  chose  not  Song,  but  Song  chose  Love  instead. 

"  Whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go,"  she  said. 


51 


VIII 

Then  do  not  think  love,  like  that  feeble  pain 

Of  anger,  can  burn  all  its  soul  away 

Through  vent  of  words,  nor  that,  from  day  to  day, 
I  thus  shall  ease  my  ache.     Is  it  not  plain 
All  joys  in  heaven  and  earth  I  count  no  gain 

Beside  this  sole  transcendent  good  of  love, 

And  since  on  my  anointed  head  this  dove 
Descended,  I  can  nothing  more  attain? 

And  so,  its  vestal,  'tis  my  single  care 

Never  to  let  this  sacred  flame  burn  out. 
Therefore  I  shelter  it  from  gusts  without 

Beneath  the  concave  palm  of  song  :  e'en  there 
Deeming  it  safest  from  the  sad  world-soil, 
Fed  by  pure,  artless  song's  unfailing  oil. 


52 


IX 

For  if  your  face  should  slip  away,  dear  soul 

That  my  soul  kneels  to,  face  that  was  unveiled 
For  those  brief  seconds —  if  those  features  failed, 

And  into  dread  oblivion's  darkness  stole, 

What  then  were  left  upon  this  desolate  sphere 

To  urge  me  from  the  welcome  drink  of  death  — 
What  shadowy  solace,  or  what  feeble  breath 

Of  heaven  reward  my  empty  sojourn  here  ? 

Not  Song  could  friend  me  :  when  I  should  arise, 
In  mockery  of  all  earth  holds  to  prize, 

Dead  Love,  with    dry   tears,  shuddering,    from  your 

clay, 

To  woo  the  slender  form  that  mourneth  near, 
She,  incorruptible,  would  blanch  with  fear, 

Cover  her  eyes,  and  silent  slink  away. 


53 


X 

Earth  without  you  were  but  an  empty  shell, 
You  animating  Love.     The  myriad  sheen, 
The  shifting  glory  of  its  gold  and  green, 

And  all  its  modesties,  and  all  the  spell 

Of  moonlight,  and  the  thrill  of  early  morn 
Have  you  for  inspiration  and  for  life, 
And  all  the  ecstacy  of  birds  is  rife 

With  love  to  be,  and  love  already  born. 

Love  is  beneath  it  all,  and  if  love  fail, 

There  is  no  beauty  in  the  rose's  blush, 
No  sweet  suggestion  in  the  mellow  hush 

Of  moonrise,  and  this  fascinating  veil 

Holds  us  no  longer,  for  no  spirit-wind 
Makes  wave  its  silken  meshes  from  behind. 


XI 

"  But  since  you  came  to  love  so  late,  what  then?  — 
Did  earth  provide  no  beauty  for  your  soul,  — 
To  drive  away  the  wolf,  no  slightest  dole 

Of  spirit-provender?  "     The  world  of  men, 

Ere  I  discovered  Love,  and  God's  dear  world 

Of  blue  and  green  seemed  an  Arcadian  vale, 
Where,  breathless,  I  must  find,  ere  sunlight  fail, 

The  nymph  of  Love  in  wood  and  water  furled. 

And  now  that  I  have  found  Her,  life's  a  school 

Where,  She  beside  me,  I  may  roam,  and  learn 
What  mysteries  may  lurk  beneath  a  fern, 

What  forms  of  love  lie  mirrored  in  a  pool,  — 
Labor  of  love  to  pass  no  leaf  unturned, 
Lest  some  least  violet  lesson  be  not  learned. 


55 


XII 

One  woke  upon  an  island  in  the  sea, 

A  barren  sand-rift ;  and  he  was  alone. 

But  he  was  fresh  from  sleeping,  and  there  shone 
Afar  the  promise  of  a  day  to  be. 
For  o'er  the  ocean's  rim  there  rose  the  sun 

Of  all  his  hopes,  a  solitary  mast. 

Ruddy  with  youth  he  waited  till  at  last 
The  ardent  race  unto  his  isle  was  run. 

He  signals ;  but  they  pay  no  heed.     He  cries 
Frantic  with  fear ;  but  on  the  vessel  flies, 

Swiftly  its  way  into  the  west  to  carve  — 
Till,  'mid  the  splendors  of  the  passing  day, 
Haggard,  he  sees  the  black  mast  sink  away, 

And,  white-haired,  he  is  left  alone  to  starve. 


56 


XIII 

You  think  my  love  is  some  abstraction,  bred 

Of  idle  musing  in  a  lovely  place, 

As  far  away  from  earth  as  the  calm,  bright  face 
Of  yonder  drowsy  moon,  and  quite  as  dead 
As  moonlight  misty  on  the  lilies'  bed. 

You  think  it  but  a  drunken  ecstasy 

Of  garden-haunting  humming-bird  or  bee, 
A  disembodied  love,  on  lilies  fed. 

O  common  source  from  which  all  mortals  drink, 
Pure  fountain-head  that  wraters  all  the  green, 
I  would  not  scorn  you,  but  that  I  have  been 

Bolder  than  most,  and  where  the  many  think 

The  journey  ends,  I  still  have  pierced  trie  woods, 
And  found  my  spring  among  the  solitudes. 


57 


XIV 

Warm  breath  upon  my  cheek ;  this  well-loved  arm 

About  my  neck,  and  clasping  me  so  close ! 

All  timid-bold  —  for  so  the  good  queen  chose, 
Who  might  have  scorned,  to  shut  me  in  from  harm. 
This  dear  face,  spirit-bright,  that  I,  o'er-bold, 

At  arm's  length  in  the  dim  light  do  peruse ; 

Two  lips  atremble,  that  I  may  not  use 
To  quench  my  lips'  thirst  in  —  my  heart  cries,  hold  ! 

Two  lips  so  round  and  red,  that  show  you  full 

Of  this  good  earthly  warmth — your  panting  breast, 
My  breast  now  leans  on,  does  the  same  attest  — 

O  soul  my  love  has  found  so  beautiful, 

My  face  hid  in  your  bosom,  I  must  grow 

Into  a  silence  :  for  I  love  you  so  ! 


58 


XV 

Because  I  am  a  spirit,  then,  I  love 

That  spirit- You  with  love  that,  like  perfume 
Of  swinging  censer,  through  the  stellar  gloom 

Unhindered,  rises  to  the  courts  above. 

Before  you,  day  and  night,  I  feed  a  flame 

Of  such  love  with  the  purest  oil  of  God, 
Offering  worthy  my  love's  gracious  nod 

Of  recognition,  —  lore  without  a  shame. 

And  then,  because  I  am  a  man  —  alas  ! 

I  know  not  whether  I  should  joy  or  greet  — 
I  love  you  for  your  body's  painful  sweet 

With  all  that  brutal  passion.  —  In  the  grass 
I  hide  my  face  —  forgive  me  if  you  can, 
I  love  you  with  the  mad  love  of  a  man. 


59 


XVI 

And  have  I  spun  this  beauty  out  of  me,  — 

From  my  soul's  substance  quarried  marble  pure 
To  chisel  such  a  Venus  forth?     "  Be  sure, 

From  that  rich  store-house  where  the  lock  and  key 

Secure  your  heaped  ideals,  you  project 

That  pictured  fancy,  prisoned  in  a  beam, 
Upon  this  girl ;   the  light  cut  off,  she'd  seem 

A  very  common  mortal,  I  suspect." 

44  A  very  common  mortal  " —  blasphemy  ! 
Not  for  her  dower  of  beauty,  let  it  be 

Greater  or  less,  but  that  my  eyes  have  seen 
Into  her  inmost  soul  God's  lightnings  shine, 

I  love  her.     For  whate'er  she  may  have  been, 
Then  she  was  made,  not  beautiful,  but  mine  ! 


60 


XVII 

Are  you  not  mine  ?     Why  then  the  blessed  flash 
That  showed  us  to  each  other,  nude  of  soul, 

Nor  did  that  nakedness  at  all  abash, 

But  by  a  bond  of  knowledge  set  the  whole 

World  at  a  distance?  —  or  do  I  grow  fond, 

And  there  was  no  such  thing ;  but  you,  clear-eyed, 
Pity  this  visionary,  heartless  to  deride 

My  dream  of  such  imaginary  bond? 

I  cannot  think  it.     Therefore  let  us  kneel, 

Hand  clasped  in  hand,  before  the  unknown  God, 
Who,  while  He  has  scarce  menaced  with  His  rod, 

Does  thus  His  attribute  of  love  reveal,  — 
Grateful  to  tears,  whatever  rules  above, 
For  this  inestimable  gift  of  love. 


61 


XVIII 

This  morning  through  the  valley  rides  the  breeze 
With  face  set  constant  to  the  north,  and  drives 
The  waves  before  him  northward  like  the  lives 

Of  subject  millions.     Subject  unto  these, 

The  pliant  water-grasses  point  the  same, 

Obedient  to  the  current.     Each  poor  mouth 

Echoes  the  king's  "  North,  north !  "  till  he  proclaim 

A   new   course,  when   the    shout   will   be,    u  South, 
south !  " 

Shall  my  soul  be  a  bunch  of  ribbon-grass, 

Servile  and  fawning,  shouting  now  for  you 

And  then  tomorrow  for  another?  —  pass, 

Dark  vision !  —  Let  me  be  but  constant,  true  : 

Bending  once  only,  on  the  water  lie 

Pointing  forever  north,  though  I  should  die ! 


02 


XIX 

I  sometimes  wonder  —  and  I  hold  my  breath  — 

Could  God,  who,  through  the  fortunes  of  this  life, 
I  hold,  is  ever  fitting  us  for  death, 

Mean  —  cruel  plunge  of  necessary  knife  — 
Those  few  sweet,  sad  days  when  we  trod  on  air 

As  some  vague  betterment  for  each  at  length  — 
Your  purity  should  purge  my  foul  spots  fair, 

My  passion  sear  your  tenderness  to  strength. 

Then  when  God  looked  upon  His  work  and  found 
It  well  done,  did  He  tear  us  twain  apart, 

With  wisdom  for  us  purblind  too  profound, 

Judging,  our  bliss  enjoyed,  an  aching  heart 

Were  best  balm  for  the  sorely  ailing  soul  — 

Joy  done  with,  then  with  grief  complete  the  whole? 


63 


XX 

My  dear,  we  cannot  by  absurd  deceit 

Evade  God's  law,  nor  by  our  puny  strength 
Frustrate ;   nor  can  we  doubt  that  thus,  at  length, 

We  should  but  our  own  groping,  blind  selves  cheat 

Of  our  allotted  bliss.     But  we  can  hope, 

Hope  till  we  wrench  our  poor  hearts  with  the  pain, 
That  God  will  make  this  simple  purpose  plain, 

We  two  shall  toil  together  up  the  slope. 

O  little,  timid  body,  with  the  heart 

So  very  big  and  brave,  I  cannot  part 

With  one  I  love  so  tenderly  and  well. 
It  were  to  sacrifice  my  very  life, 

My  bulwark  set  against  this  sad  world's  hell, 
My  inspiration,  and  —  God  grant  —  my  wife  ! 


G4 


Alas,  brave  words,  that  hide  the  lurking  fear 
And  kindle  momentary  warmth,  will  soon 
Blush  into  silence,  as  the  sophist  moon 

That  breeds  them  pales,  and  in  the  ghostly  leer 

Of  gray  dawn  all  the  dread  truth  shall  appear ! 

Ah,  braggart  words  betray  the  worse  poltroon  — 
Ere  long  the  boast  upon  the  lips  of  June 

Turns  wailing  as  the  halcyon  breezes  veer. 

I  have  been  very  loud  in  protestation : 

When  doubts  pressed  hardest,  highest  was  my  vaunt. 
Buoyed  on  a  wave  of  frantic  exultation, 

I  have  hurled  skulking  doubt  his  taunt  for  taunt. 
But  now  I  am  o'erwhelmed  with  shade  on  shade 
Of  stalking  fears  that  my  weak  soul  invade. 


67 


II 

I  fear  that  I  shall  lose  the  sense  of  you, 

The  glowing  sense  of  you  that  made  life  worth. 

My  ears  grow  dull  unto  your  voice's  mirth. 
Mine  eyes  grow  dim,  nor  catch  the  wonted  hue 
And  flush  of  your  sweet  body  as  it  drew 

Tints  from  the  fairest  flowers  of  the  earth. 

No  longer  at  the  touch  of  you  is  birth 
Of  bliss  ineffable  and  ever  new. 

At  last  my  heart  —  selfish,  forgetting  heart !  — 
No  longer  sensible  to  every  breath 

That  once  had  wrung  its  taut  strings  into  song, 
Feebly  responds  to  yours  his  answering  part, 
As  to  some  reminiscent  air  of  death 

Might   stir   some   loose-stringed  harp  that  slum- 
bered long. 


68 


Ill 

Hour  after  hour,  in  the  teeming  night 

Within  the  deep  wood  where  I  wander,  blows 
Face  after  face  into  a  perfect  rose, 

Limned  on  the  darkness  with  a  spirit-light, 

And  every  petal  glimmers  shadow-bright. 
They  are  the  faces  of  the  souls  of  those 
I  would  imprint  in  memory,  and  close 

In  my  heart's  jealous  prison  against  flight. 

But  ah,  there  is  not  one  that  will  remain 
For  a  familiar  comfort  in  the  way, 

Or  witness  for  my  heart  at  his  own  bar. 
Old  features  subtly  fade,  dissolve  away, 

While  new  ones  brighten  ever.    What  the  gain 
Since  I  can  fix  no  constant,  polar  star? 


69 


IV 

Is  there  no  depth  then  in  these  souls  of  ours 

Where  love  may  strike  deep  roots  that  shall  remain, 
Or  is  their  soil  too  shallow  to  sustain 

More  lusty  growths,  that  it  should  tax  our  powers 

So  hard  to  nurse  a  night  these  pale  moon-flowers,  — 
Helpless,  when  moonless  morning  comes  again, 
To  stay  their  petty  ardour  from  its  wane 

Though  we  should  weep  a  sea  of  pensive  showers  ? 

Vain  souls,  we  wring  our  heart's  last,  warmest  red 
To  water  these  wan  flowers,  and  fondly  deem 

Their  roots  strike  down  into  eternity  — 
Till  suddenly,  the  soft  night  being  sped, 

We  wake  to  find  all  but  a  feeble  dream, 
Our  vision  vanished  irrecoverably. 


70 


V 

Ah,  seal  my  rash  mouth  up  with  kisses,  dear, 

Lest  I  should  blurt  out  irrevocably 

Some  desperate  sentence.     Let  us  rather  be 
Both  dumb  and  blind,  than  that  a  doubt  should  peer 
Into  our  poor  hearts  with  malignant  leer, 

Or  whisper  steal  in  between  you  and  me ! 

Let  us  ignore  a  jealous  fate's  decree  — 
With  folding  arms  fence  out  the  invading  fear. 

Can  we  not  thus,  in  clinging,  wild  embrace, 

Shut  out  the  world  and  the  world's  withering  doubt? 

Can  we  not,  doting  on  each  other's  face, 

And  tingling  with  each  other's  touch,  shut  out 

Our  very  souls,  and  kindle  in  some  vein 

Love-warmth,  and  for  an  instant  love  again? 


71 


VI 

Nay,  sovran  Love,  let  me  not  look  askance 

Where  those    flowers   bloom.     My    foot    must   never 
stay 

In  thy  steep  path,  nor  eyes  uncertain  stray 
To  glean  that  siren  sweetness  with  a  glance. 
Dreading  to  lose  thy  dim-lit  countenance, 

I  dare  not  thy  faint  summons  disobey  : 

Lest  somehow,  suddenly  in  broad  midday, 
I  should  be  stricken  with  some  blinding  trance, 

And  waking,  should  behold  a  country  strange, 
With  alien  features  all  forlorn,  and  hills 

Where  restless,  driven  shadows  sadly  range, 

Bondslaves  of  shameful  thirst  that  nothing  stills, 

And  haply  I  should  meet  on  the  vain  heath 

My  lost  soul,  in  the  desolate  land  of  death. 


72 


VII 

Learn  we  through  trailing  of  the  broken  wing 

Our  simple  lesson  of  humility. 

Rashly  aspiring  to  the  larks,  would  we 
With  those  empyreal  singers  soar  and  sing. 
So  on  heroic  quest  far  venturing, 

A  sudden  weakness  came  on  you  and  me, 

And  from  the  clear  seventh  heaven  instantly 
We  fell  to  this  our  lowly  travailing. 

Never  again  shall  we  so  pierce  the  blue 

With  flashing  pinions  at  the  sun's  red  heart. 
But  time  at  last  performs  his  healing  part : 

And  mid  the  branches  of  earth-rooted  yew 
Our  invalid  ambition  shall  grow  strong, 
And  we  shall  venture  forth  again  with  song. 


73 


VIII 

Many  a  soft  illusion  has  the  moon 

Wrought  for  us,  dear,  all  of  a  summer  night, 
Who  yielded  willing  to  his  gentle  might 

Of  flattering  hypnotism  —  all  too  soon 

Scattered  beneath  the  searching  glare  of  noon ! 
The  passionate  roses,  in  his  fostering  light, 
Shot  suddenly  to  fair  and  wondrous  height. 

How  should  we  not  regret  so  rich  a  boon? 

Yet  am  I  for  the  sun,  that  gilds  at  morn 
The  heaven-aspiring  fir-tops  on  a  hill ! 

I  count  it  scarce  a  loss  when  his  brave  horn 

Dispels  that  dear  dream-fancy.     There  is  still, 

When  kissing  lips  turn  languid,  summer  nights, 

The  sunlit  path  together  on  the  heights. 


74 


14  DAY  USE 

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